


day's sweetest moments are at dawn

by besidemethewholedamntime



Series: at the end of the day all i need is you [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Comfort, Domestic Softness, F/M, Fluff, Humour, Modern Royalty AU, Non-SHIELD AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:41:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25579027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/besidemethewholedamntime/pseuds/besidemethewholedamntime
Summary: '“What are you doing?”Jemma jumps a little and turns around, brandishing the curling wand like a weapon. “Oh, Fitz, you’re up. Did I wake you?”“No,” he says, sitting himself up against the headboard and turning on the lamp. “You could have turned on the light. Not that I’m an expert or anything, but I don’t think you should curl your hair in the dark.”'Fitz and Jemma being domestic early in the morning.  A prequel to my modern royalty AU 'for where there's sun you'll find a moon'.
Relationships: Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons
Series: at the end of the day all i need is you [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1934755
Comments: 32
Kudos: 110





	day's sweetest moments are at dawn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AgentManatee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentManatee/gifts).



> For agentmanatee who requested Fitzsimmons + 'can't you stay a little longer?'. I'm so sorry it took me so long but I hope you enjoy it! It's technically a prequel but you don't need to have read the other one first. I went for the fluffy over the angsty for this one. I felt like they deserved a nice moment!
> 
> The title is from Ella Wheeler 'Dawn'. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Fitz rolls over and stretches out his arms, feeling immediately the empty sheets in the space next to him. Frowning, and gingerly cracking open one eye against the early morning light, he blearily looks around for the missing person.

Jemma stands in the corner at the mirror, frantically trying to coax a curl into her hair. He looks at the clock – half past six in the bloody morning – and back at her, his frown only deepening. The warmth he felt only moments before melts away, and he senses that the question he’s about to ask won’t have an easy answer. It never does.

“What are you doing?”

Jemma jumps a little and turns around, brandishing the curling wand like a weapon. “Oh, Fitz, you’re up. Did I wake you?”

“No,” he says, sitting himself up against the headboard and turning on the lamp. “You could have turned on the light. Not that I’m an expert or anything, but I don’t think you should curl your hair in the dark.”

“I know that.” She rolls her eyes. “I didn’t want to wake you. Though I’m glad you’re awake now, it was starting to get a bit difficult.”

“Mmhmm, I could see how that would be so.” He looks around the rest of the room. Apparently, a lot has happened when he’s been asleep. There are at least five different outfits strewn across the bed, and several different bottles and tubes now adorn the top of his chest of drawers, where last night there was only a plant and a picture frame. He didn’t even realise she’d stashed so many of her things here.

“Do you, uh, want to explain what’s going on here?”

“Oh, nothing.” Jemma waves her free hand as she turns back to the mirror. “Just a little bit of a mess. I’ll tidy it up.”

“A little bit of a mess? It looks like a bloody bomb has hit.”

“Ugh, Fitz, there’s no need for the dramatics.” In the mirror he can see her eyeroll, and he feels himself grin despite the mess and the horrifically early hour.

“Is there a reason for the mess?” He ventures, mentally running through everything Jemma has told him ever since he picked her up yesterday. It had been raining so heavy that the water was like a sheet falling from the sky, and it had thundered off the car roof making it hard to hear what she said. The thought that he’s missed something important is like a fist in his throat, but he tries not to show it.

“It’s my fault,” she says sheepishly. “I forgot that I had an engagement today, and my mother phoned me at five to remind me that she expects me back at the palace, camera-ready, at ten.”

“She phoned you at five?” Fitz feels his forehead furrow deeply in confusion. “Why didn’t I hear that?”

“Because nothing other than your stomach wakes you up, Fitz.” She laughs fondly, and he finds he can’t even be annoyed. “Besides, after the night we had last night, I wouldn’t expect you to wake easily.”

Though it’s just the two of them, he feels his cheeks begin to warm. In the heat of the moment is one thing, but in the light of the morning it’s all very different. “Ah, yeah, well there was that I suppose.”

“I’m quite sure I won’t need to go running for at least a week after all that cardio,” she teases.

“Alright, Jemma. I got it.” But then, “Do you have to get ready right now?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” She curls another strand of hair and then drowns it in hairspray. “It’s a process.”

“Can’t you stay a little longer? We could always have a-” he pats the bedcovers “- repeat of last night?”

“Oh, Fitz. You know there’s nothing I’d love more, but this takes an age to do, and you know what palace bureaucracy is like. If I’m late then I’ll never be allowed without one of the protection officers again.”

He’d known what her answer was going to be even as he asked the question, but he figured it was worth the chance. Any chance is worth it as long as it gives him more time with her. It’s so very precious as it is.

“Do they know where you are now?” He looks around, half expecting to hear the SAS crashing down the front door of his flat. He wishes he could say it hasn’t happened before, but there have been instances where he has woken up only to find Tom or Christopher looking down at him very disapprovingly.

“No. Well, actually, they probably do. Nobody wants to lose their heir to the throne accidentally, but they don’t officially know. I try not to tell them if I can help it.”

At least if the SAS were to burst through the door, it would be here and not back at the London house. He doubts his father would take kindly to either his own soldiers gate-crashing, or the future Queen of Britain in his son’s bed. He doubts they would ever dare to invade the Highland estate. Not even the SAS would brave his mother.

“I see.” He roots around on the floor beside his bed, grabbing te t-shirt he discarded during much happier times and slipping it over his head. October mornings are _cold._ He’s never really been awake to notice how much before. “What’s your engagement today?”

“I don’t know,” Jemma says, and he winces as the curling wand comes dangerously close to the delicate skin of her inner wrist. “Something pointless I suppose.”

He barely hears her, unable to keep the wince from his face. “Don’t they have people to do that for you?” She releases the curl and sprays it liberally. “Seems like you would.”

“Usually, yes, but I’m not there. I would have it done for me if I was, as my mother took great delight in reminding me.” Jemma twirls the strand around her fingers. “No doubt that we don’t actually have to leave until eleven, and that there are a team of stylists on standby in case I don’t pass inspection.”

Fitz sighs. “I’m guessing we’re not giving her the satisfaction.”

Jemma presses her lips together grimly. “No, we’re not.”

Jemma’s mother, the current Queen of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, has all the disdain that the title commands. Since he was five years old Fitz has been afraid of her, and she has never been an ardent fan of his either. They regard each other warily at social events, bowing and nodding heads politely as they can manage. Fitz tends to stay out of her way if he can, which fortunately is most of the time, as Jemma isn’t a terribly great fan of her mother either.

“What would happen if you didn’t go?” He asks conversationally, as he roots around the mess on the floor again for his trousers. He looks up briefly to see Jemma’s very scandalised face staring back at him. “No, I know you have to go – don’t look at me like that. I was just saying, what would happen if you didn’t?”

“Any number of really terrible things,” she sighs. “They’d come storming after me and drag me back to the palace kicking and screaming. My mother would yell at me for hours and eventually lock me in my room until I learned to behave. Either that or she’d pack me off to some remote island in the Outer Hebrides until I learned to be grateful for the life I have.”

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with the Outer Hebrides,” he says over the chattering of his teeth as the cold morning air assaults his bare legs.

“Of course not, Fitz.” Jemma’s voice is patronisingly placating. “But it’s not somewhere I’d wish to live in exile, if I could help it.”

Fitz, whose most secret daydreams feature a life where he and Jemma could live on such an island, completely alone and free from the societies they inhabit, says nothing. Instead he just watches her and is hit, as he so often is these days, by the knowledge that he can’t live without her.

“Oh, bloody hell!”

Jemma’s cry rings around the bedroom, bouncing off the walls. She drops the curling wand to the floor and holds her left wrist in her right hand, biting her lip intensely.

“Did you burn yourself?” Fitz asks, though the question is redundant. Even in the yellow light he can see the red mark straight across her skin.

“Yes,” she hisses, looking at it with disdain. “Stupid thing.”

“Here, let me see it.” He comes over to her and gently takes her wrist in his hands. It’s not a bad burn, not really. A glancing blow if anything. He grins at her. “I think you’ll live.”

“It’s not that bad, really,” Jemma says, her voice back to normal. “It was just the surprise I suppose.”

“It’s why you should have left it to the professionals, instead of spending your time with a no-good republican like me.”

She shakes her head. “You’re no good, but you’re certainly not a republican.”

“I don’t know, the thought appeals to me more and more every day. No monarchy means that we don’t have a problem. You could’ve accepted my proposal.”

His proposal had been magical, even if he does say so himself. Under the stars and in the place where they had first met, it had been one for the poets to write about. He had known that she couldn’t say yes, but he had done it anyway, and the way her face had lit up the moment he’d presented her with his grandmother’s ring is a memory treasured and tucked away in his heart.

Jemma says nothing, her eyes wide and glistening. He brings her wrist to his mouth, and touches the red mark gently with his lips. “There,” he says, “kissed it better.”

“Thank you,” she whispers, and her smile is like a thousand fireworks going off inside his chest.

He retreats then in search of what he could make them quickly for breakfast, which is the limit of his culinary capabilities. If they were to ever live on that island then he’d have a lot of work to do. Tea is apparently all that his kitchen has to offer, and he comes back to the bedroom with two steaming cups to find Jemma nursing yet another burn.

“It’s trying to do the back,” she groans, as he leaves and comes back with an ice cube covered in a tea towel for her to put on the now twice-burned spot.

She rests the ice on her wrist for a moment, before going back to her gymnastics. Fitz sits on the foot of the bed, sipping his tea and watching with half worry and half amusement.

“Maybe you should give it up,” he ventures, watching Jemma’s complex movements.

“I can’t give it up, Fitz. It’s already more than half done! I’d just look odd.”

He’s sorely tempted to ask her to give it all up completely, but he knows she’d never admit defeat, and he really doesn’t want to either. To stick it to the Queen is an opportunity one doesn’t want to pass up.

After another minute of watching her try to manoeuvre her arms, he can’t take it anymore. He stands up behind her. “Give it to me.”

“What?” He can see the indignation flash across her face in the mirror.

He holds out his hand for the offensive instrument. “Give it to me. I’ll do the back for you.”

There’s a moment where the emotions all play out on her face, and he can tell she doesn’t know whether to be annoyed or relieved. She settles for somewhere in between. “I can do it, you know.”

“You clearly can’t,” he scoffs. “Or at least not without burning yourself.”

“Do you even know what you’re doing?”

The answer to that is fairly obvious, but having watched her do it he thinks he has a fair idea by now. “I went to Oxford, Jemma. I’m sure I’ve got it.” He scrunches his hand again. “Just give to me.”

With a soft smile on her face she hands it over, and he begins the task of doing the poker-straight back of her hair. It’s not as difficult as he feared it would be, and when the first strand he does looks identical to the ones Jemma did herself, he feels oddly proud.

Jemma looks impressed as she hands him the hairspray to spray it with. “Wow,” she says approvingly. “I should have used you a long time ago.”

“This isn’t becoming a thing,” he warns with a smile. “I love you, but I can’t do these six o’clock starts all the time.”

Except he would if she required it, and he wonders when he became such a lovesick fool.

“It’s nearly seven. But don’t worry. After the stress of this morning I think I’ll just submit to the Palace for this from now on.”

He works away quietly on her hair, just enjoying being this close. Time with her feels stolen, and yet he wouldn’t give any of it back. He’d take more and more of it. To make her happy he would do whatever she wanted. Love has made him selfish and selfless all at once, and though it confuses him, it’s also the easiest thing that he has ever done. Loving her is like breathing, simple yet vital. He doesn’t need to know how exactly it works, as long as it does.

“Done,” he announces, giving her hair a last once-over with the hairspray from his angle. “What do you think?”

“It’s gorgeous.” Jemma has tears in her eyes and her reflection in the mirror beams at him. “Thank you.”

“Always,” he affirms, turning off the curling wand and placing it down. “You look beautiful.”

He doesn’t get an answer. She just stands looking at herself with wide eyes, a haunted, sombre look on her face.

“Jemma?” He comes to stand closer behind her, placing on hand on her waist. “What is it?”

“This is what it would be, Fitz,” she says seriously. “All of this fretting. It would never just be the two of us in the morning the way it is now. It would be like this.” And he realises that she wasn’t looking at just herself, she was looking at _them._ “You one step behind me for the rest of our lives.”

Her pyjama top has slid down slightly, and he kisses the bare skin of her shoulder. He’s afraid but not for the reason she wants him to be. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” he murmurs. “I promise you that.”

Their royal life together he has rarely given thought to, for he knows how unlikely and also how far off into the future it would be. He doesn’t care if he were one step or one-hundred steps behind her. As long as he was _there,_ as long as he was with her, then it would all make sense. Everything would be alright.

He’d be content to stay in this position for the rest of the morning. He’d personally phone the palace and tell them to go fuck themselves, but that wouldn’t solve anything. Instead he kisses Jemma’s shoulder one last time and says, “You still need to pick an outfit.”

It works. Jemma shakes herself a little and immediately disengages herself to look over the outfits laid over at the bottom of the bed. “I have no idea what one would work best.”

“Don’t you know where you’re going?” He shakes his head. “Not like you to be unprepared.”

“Alright alright. That’s not exactly helpful now.” She gathers a white blouse and blue skirt to her chest. “I think I’ll try these on first. You can tell me what you think.”

She goes to the door and Fitz clears his throat. “Uh, what are you doing?”

Jemma looks at him as if he’s delirious. “Going to get changed. Where do you think I’m going?”

“You do know there’s no point of you leaving the room to get changed, right?”

“I know, Fitz,” she sighs, and then grins cheekily. “Believe me, I know. But I’m going to brush my teeth and I might as well save time by doing it whilst getting changed.”

“Of course,” he says wearily, and perches on the end of the bed. “Be careful not to get toothpaste on them!”

“Yes, yes. I’ll be careful.” She waves her hands as she leaves and he scrubs his hand down his face.

Not even two seconds later she pokes her head around the door. “Fitz?”

He looks up at her. Perfect ringlets fall around her face but there’s a pillow crease still on her cheek. He’s suddenly aware of how lucky he is to see this Jemma, the real Jemma. Everybody else gets a polished version who says and does all of the right things and whose laugh sounds like tinkling bells and whose smile is just wide enough to satisfy the cameras. He gets his Jemma, pillow creases and burn marks and smiles that reach her eyes. He wouldn’t trade her for anything.

“Yeah?”

She bites her lip momentarily. “I love you. I just needed you to know that.”

He can’t stop himself from smiling. “Right now?”

“Yes, right now. Before the toothpaste.”

He nods. It makes sense in this precious world that exists only between the two of them at this early hour. He knew, of course, but even now when she says it his heart still thumps erratically like it’s the first time all over again.

“Of course,” he tells her. “I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this! Please feel free to leave kudos/comments. Please feel free not to. Either way, I hope you have a lovely day and are all safe and well <3


End file.
